


How Wonderful Life Is (While You're in the World)

by meganwritesbooks



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mild Smut, Moulin Rouge AU, Multi, Prostitution, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganwritesbooks/pseuds/meganwritesbooks
Summary: John Constantine is a traveling exorcist who finds himself in Paris among a group of bohemians seeking a writer. In order to investigate demonic activity at the Moulin Rouge, John goes undercover and pretends to be a writer, which leads him to the infamous nightclub where he meets its star courtesan, Zari Tarazi. The two of them form an instant connection and soon begin a secret love affair. But she is already promised to Nate Heywood, the son of the club's patron, the Duke of Monroth. A dangerous love triangle ensues as John and Zari fight against all odds to stay together. Come what may, will their love persevere?(Hellstar Week 2020 Day 7: Free Choice)
Relationships: John Constantine/Zari Tarazi, John Constantine/Zari Tomaz | Zari Tarazi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	How Wonderful Life Is (While You're in the World)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm so excited to finally share this story with you all. Moulin Rouge is one of my favorite musicals and Legends of Tomorrow is my current obsession, so I poured my heart and soul into merging the two worlds. This idea has been simmering in my mind for the last couple of months and I thought Hellstar Week was the perfect opportunity to finally write it. A couple of things about this fic:
> 
> 1\. The story is based off of elements from the Moulin Rouge film AND the broadway musical.  
> 2\. It will be split into two parts: Act I and Act II. I'll have the second part up as soon as I can!
> 
> Without further ado, onto the story!

**ACT I**

_“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”_

Outside the window, a windmill is spun round and round by strong gusts of wind, its bright red blades a stark contrast to Paris’s stormy gray skies.

The Moulin Rouge stands just across the street from John’s flat and glares at him through the window. He sits curled in the middle of the cluttered floor with his legs folded against his chest, face buried between his knees, surrounded by crumpled balls of paper and empty liquor bottles. His last bottle of wine hangs limply in his hand, half its contents sloshing around like a mournful melody of alcoholism.

For the first time in hours, John slowly lifts his head. His neglected typewriter sits on the rickety desk by the window, gathering dust and taunting him, urging him to pour out his pain onto paper rather than assuaging the constant ache in his heart with booze and drugs.

Beside the typewriter is an empty wooden box that once contained his stash. John sighed deeply, longing to inhale the fumes that numbed his mind but lacking the money to feed his addiction.

It was strange. John originally fled to Paris a year ago to escape his demons, to perhaps rid the city of love from the evil that threatened to immerse it in darkness. Now here he was, plagued by more misery than he had to begin with.

It’s been a year since everything happened. A year since the one thing that made John’s life for once not seem like a waste was ripped from him. 

They had called her _the sparkling diamond_. But to John, she was the woman he loved.

The two of them never were supposed to meet in the first place, and certainly not fall in love. The basis of their entire affair was built on a lie. John had been a traveling exorcist pretending to be a writer, going undercover to do his real job so he could afford food and a place to sleep at night. He had no interest in joining a revolution of musicians, painters, and writers. He hadn’t planned to stay at the Moulin Rouge for as long as he did, nor had he been prepared to encounter _her_. 

How wonderful life is, indeed.

John would never forget one of the last things she said to him before she died in his arms. It never ceased to replay in his mind, in his dreams. 

_“Tell our story, John. That way, we will always be together.”_

John doesn’t know what possesses him to stumble over to his desk and slump down in the chair, his fingers itching to stroke the typewriter keys. Hot tears blur his vision as his hands tremble, and he has to pause for a moment to collect himself. He bites his fist to stifle the cry threatening to claw its way up his throat, his teeth scraping the skin of his knuckles. John gives in and presses his hands against his forehead, quietly sobbing to himself for a minute. When he wills himself to remove his hand from his face, he grimly regards the typewriter and inserts a blank sheet of paper into it. 

Then he starts to type.

* * *

**_PARIS, 1899_ **

The village of Montmartre was considered by many a breeding ground for sin, while others viewed it as the center of the blossoming bohemian revolution. 

Naturally, the neighborhood was the first place John sought out after stepping off the train in Paris, swaggering about the city with his beige trench coat trailing behind him like a shadow. The site of the esteemed Moulin Rouge was said to be crawling with demonic activity. 

If the nightclub was haunted, John Constantine would be the one to find out.

As soon as he stepped foot inside his new flat, a single bare room with outdated furnishings, John immediately began making himself at home. First he set up a makeshift workstation on the rickety desk by the window, displaying his medical box lined with bottles of herbs, potions, and ingredients used for occult rituals. Soon the little amount of clothes John brought were unpacked from his trunk and stuffed into drawers and his spell books formed a stack next to the typewriter sitting at the corner of the desk, left behind by its previous owner. Once he was satisfied by the organized clutter he created, he went to work on casting protective enchantments around the room. 

Outside the window, John’s flat had a perfect view of the Moulin Rouge, situated just across the street from his building. He briefly wondered if he would catch a glimpse of one of the scantily clad cancan dancers sauntering in and out of the club, but quickly dismissed the thought. _Focus, you wanker._

His fantasy of beautiful women in corsets and heavy rouge promptly vanished when a man fell through the ceiling, landing on the bed in a heap of colorful fabric and plaster.

“ _Bloody hell!_ ” John cursed loudly and staggered back into the wall, clutching his pounding chest. So much for the protective enchantments. 

The man who had literally crashed into John’s flat laid sprawled out on the broken bed, his dark half-lidded eyes gazing around the room in wonder. He was obviously very high. His hair was a nest of wild raven curls and he wore a bizarre combination of clothing consisting of an olive green shirt, plum vest, and linen trousers.

“What just happened?” the man asked, his dark brows furrowing in confusion.

“You uh…” John gestured vaguely at the gaping hole in the ceiling. “You fell through my ceiling, mate.”

The curly-haired stranger grinned. “ _Technically_ , I fell through the floor.”

“Terribly sorry about that!” shouted a voice from above, causing John’s head to snap up at the pair of men and a woman peering through the hole in the ceiling. The dark-haired man with kind brown eyes, the one who had spoken, smiled and waved as if nothing was wrong. “Got a little carried away. We were just rehearsing a play we’re writing.”

John blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Did you just move in?” the woman asked, her thick cockney accent reminding John of his life back in London. She was grinning wickedly from ear to ear, her loose black curls hanging down through the ceiling. “Welcome to Montmartre, neighbor.”

Before John could respond, the other man with the lighter hair who had yet to speak added, “We’ll be right down to retrieve our friend!”

Seconds later John heard footsteps barreling downstairs before his door slammed open, and he suddenly found himself surrounded by four strangers in his tiny flat. He could barely register what was happening as the two men checked on their friend while the woman stepped forward and extended her hand toward John.

“Charlie Clotho,” the woman introduced herself, her grip surprisingly firm as she shook John’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

John retracted his hand from Charlie’s and buried it in the pocket of his trench coat. “John Constantine,” he replied, his gaze traveling to her three companions.

“These here are my mates Raymond Palmer and Nathaniel Heywood, but they go by Ray and Nate,” Charlie told him, pointing first at the tall dark-haired man and then at the shorter blue-eyed brunette. She indicated the third man with an amused shake of her head. “And I see you’ve already met the incomparable Behrad Tarazi. Are you alright, B?” 

Behrad shook some bits of plaster out of his hair and gave a cheeky thumbs-up. “I don’t feel concussed, so that must mean I’m fine.”

“Perhaps Mr. Constantine can examine you,” Ray suggested, who had noticed John’s medical box of oddities on the desk. “Are you a doctor?”

“Sort of,” John muttered, brushing beside Ray and shutting his medical box with haste. The last thing he needed were nosy neighbors snooping through his things. He was quick to change the subject and decided to address what he had been wondering since these strangers barged into his flat. “So...what exactly were you doing up there that led to the destruction of my ceiling?” 

“Rehearsing a stunt that unfortunately went wrong,” Nate replied bluntly as if this somehow answered all of John’s questions, eyeing the ruined ceiling with an apologetic smile.

“Which we _would’ve_ gotten right if you lot weren’t busy messing around,” Charlie scolded, establishing herself in John’s perspective as the leader of this troupe of misfits. “We need to finish this play by tomorrow to present it to the financier. This may be the only chance we get to put on an authentic bohemian, revolutionary show at the Moulin Rouge!”

John instantly perked up. “Wait, you’re writing a show for the _Moulin Rouge?_ ”

“Indeed we are,” Ray said proudly, then frowned in thought. “Well, trying to anyway. Charlie and B still need to finish the music and lyrics while Nate and I need to do some rewrites to the script.”

“It’s called _Bohemian Rhapsody,_ ” Behrad beamed, splaying his fingers in a jazz hands motion. “I came up with the name.”

Charlie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “The whole thing needs work. You could say we’re having some... _artistic differences_.” Shrugging hopelessly, she regarded John in mock contemplation. “You wouldn’t happen to be a writer, would you?”

John realized in that moment that helping this group of bohemians with their show would practically guarantee him a way inside the Moulin Rouge so he could conduct his paranormal investigation. Pretending to be a writer shouldn’t be too difficult a lie to maintain. After all, he had enough experience from writing songs during his youth to craft a decent story. Plus he just so happened to be in possession of a typewriter now. This would be just like slipping into a disguise to pull off the perfect con.

It’s not like John would be writing the entire play by himself. Charlie and her troupe would do most of the work. All John was concerned about was quietly tracking down a possible demon residing at the Moulin Rouge without getting caught or risking innocent lives in the process.

“As a matter of fact,” John declared before he could reconsider, “I _am_ a writer.”

Behrad gave him an unconvincing look. “Are you even a true bohemian?” 

“What makes one a _true bohemian?_ ” John countered.

“Well, do you believe in beauty?” Ray asked him. “Freedom? Truth? Love?”

John snorted. “If it suits your fancy, then yes. I do.”

“I’m still not convinced,” Charlie scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you any good?”

“I’m good enough,” John retorted, unfazed by Charlie’s challenging glare. “And I work well when I’m pressed for time which, need I remind you, is something you lot are lacking.”

Nate and Ray exchanged questioning glances while Behrad’s brows shot up in surprise, evidently caught off guard by John’s harsh insight. John worried for a moment he had gone a step too far. But after a minute of careful deliberation among the group, a devious smile slowly spread across Charlie’s face. “A cunning one, you are. Zari would like you.”

“What does my sister have to do with this?” Behrad asked.

“Well, in order to put on _Bohemian Rhapsody_ at the Moulin Rouge, we’ll need Mick Rory’s approval. He runs the damn place,” Charlie explained as she padded over to the window, gazing out at the aforementioned nightclub. 

Behrad leaned forward expectantly. “Yes, and?” 

“And who has the biggest influence on Mick?” 

Nate snapped his fingers, Charlie’s plan dawning on him. “ _Zari._ ”

John’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Who’s Zari?”

“Wow, you really must be new here if you don’t know who my sister is,” Behrad said, chuckling. His voice dipped low into a dramatic timbre. “Zari Tarazi, the beloved starlet of the Moulin Rouge, the _sparkling diamond_. Ring any bells?”

John shook his head. “I’ve never heard of this woman in my life.”

Charlie turned away from the window and smirked. “Trust me, you will. Zari has influence over everything that happens at the Moulin Rouge, which means—“

“She could convince Mick to back our show,” Ray finished, clapping his hands together. “Charlie, you’re a _genius!”_

“What part do I play in all this?” John asked warily, not realizing the extent of what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

“You, my friend, will have the most important role of all,” Charlie told him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Are you prepared to seduce the sparkling diamond?” 

* * *

According to Charlie, it was the perfect plan. They would dress John up in Nate’s best tailcoat suit and silk top hat and pass him off as a famous English writer. Because Zari had never met John, she wouldn’t suspect any deception like she would if Charlie’s troupe carried out their ploy alone. Once Zari heard John perform the piece of poetry he and his new neighbors had prepared, she would be so amazed and demand Mick Rory to put on their show at the Moulin Rouge. 

John became fairly acquainted with his neighbors during their creative collaboration. In between drinks, he learned that Charlie was a free-spirited musician who played on street corners in Montmartre. Nate was a former history professor with an interest in acting and writing. Ray was a scientist who designed the lighting at the Moulin Rouge and had a knack for theatre production, claiming “creating shows was like a science experiment, each one containing multiple moving parts and variables.” Behrad was truly a Renaissance man, talented at poetry, painting, and music. He was the younger brother of Zari Tarazi and worked at the club with his sister, painting sets and backdrops for performances. 

It wasn’t too difficult for Charlie’s troupe to convince John to go along with their elaborate scheme once they filled him up with plenty of absinthe shots. 

But the following night, as John made his way across the street to the infamous cabaret to join the others, he was possessed by the urge to turn around and run until he reached the train station, where he could purchase a one-way ticket far away from Paris. He felt uneasy without the security of his oversized trench coat, fiddling anxiously with the white bow tie at his throat. 

_Why did I agree to this?_ John kept asking himself. _There are much better ways I could have infiltrated this damned nightclub rather than involving myself in other people’s problems._

In John’s profession, it was best to work alone. Going _this_ deep undercover was not how he usually handled things. 

Perhaps he was just morbidly curious to see if this would lead to his own self-destruction.

Standing outside the club were Charlie and Ray donned in their fanciest eveningwear, both appraising John’s attire with nods of approval as he strode up to them. “You’re late,” Charlie told him.

John rolled his eyes. “You should be glad I had the bollocks to show up.” He glanced around. “Where are Nate and Behrad?”

“They’re inside finding a table,” Ray replied, checking his pocket watch. “We should probably join them. Zari will be performing soon.”

Entering the Moulin Rouge was like entering a kingdom of nighttime pleasure, a place where the rich and powerful of Paris came to play with alluring creatures of the underworld. The club was a kaleidoscope of fiery colors, bright reds and oranges and golds swirling on the dance floor. Beautiful courtesans in lingerie slinked through the crowd of male patrons, luring them into their seductive trap with playful touches and flirtatious smiles. Cancan dancers pranced about on stage and among the crowd in vibrant costumes and makeup, lifting their ruffled skirts as they high-kicked in time with the music. The sultry jazz booming throughout the club was so deafening that John became swept up in the chaos. 

One of the dancers, a gorgeous blonde with piercing blue eyes clad in a voluminous red skirt, brushed her hand across John’s back and purred something in his ear, and he would’ve gladly followed her onto the dance floor if it weren’t for Charlie snapping him out of his moment of weakness. 

“You can have your fun later, Johnno,” Charlie chided, dragging him over to a table Nate and Behrad had secured for them. “Focus on the task at hand.”

Behrad was already sitting down beside Nate, smoking something from a hookah. “We’ve hit a snag in our plan,” he announced, blowing a puff of smoke through his lips. “Mick’s in a bad mood tonight.”

“When is Mick Rory ever in a _good_ mood?” Charlie replied with a derisive snort. 

“I’m surprised we managed to sneak in and evade him,” Ray muttered, glancing around warily as if Mick Rory was within earshot. “Hopefully he won’t spot us, otherwise he might sense we’re up to something.” 

“Which one is he?” John inquired, wanting to know what the owner of the Moulin Rouge looked like so he could avoid him in the future. 

Ray squinted his eyes to scan the brightly-lit club until he finally pointed at a bald man with weathered skin and a permanent scowl standing on a platform overlooking the dance floor, watching over his kingdom while chugging a beer. “That’s him over there. Mick’s pretty easy to find in a crowd.”

“Yeah, because he's the only person here who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else,” Nate added wryly, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing courtesan carrying a tray.

“Seems kinda odd a bloke like him runs a place like this,” John commented, even though he was only half-paying attention. His concentration wandered elsewhere, scouring every corner of the club in search of anything out of the ordinary. If there was a demonic presence lingering about, surely it would be close by ready to feast on lost souls. 

Nate shrugged. “Mick isn’t the type to party the night away, but at least he gets to be surrounded by beautiful women for a living.” Suddenly, Nate’s face paled when he noticed an older gentleman sitting alone at a nearby table. “ _Shit_. We have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” Behrad asked, trying to peek at whoever Nate was looking at. 

“ _Don’t look_ ,” Nate hissed. “My father is sitting over there.”

“The Duke of Monroth?” Ray questioned in disbelief, his eyes widening when he stole a glance at Nate’s father. “Isn’t this place a little too _bohemian_ for Hank Heywood’s tastes?” 

Nate let out a halfhearted chuckle. “Not when there’s a business proposition involved. I meant to say something about my father before but...he _may or may not_ be the club’s new investor.”

Charlie gasped and stood abruptly from the table. “ _Nate!_ Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell us? You _know_ your father won’t invest in a show like _Bohemian Rhapsody_. The title alone would frighten him away!”

“ _I know,_ Charlie, I was going to explain but—” Nate’s voice trailed off and he emitted a shaky sigh. “Look, my father and I don’t have the best relationship so we rarely speak. I didn’t even know he was coming here tonight. But maybe I can talk to him, see if I can pitch the script to him. It’s a long shot, but what’s the worst that could happen?” 

“He could hate it so much that he changes his mind about investing in the club and we wouldn’t have the money to stay open,” Behrad told him pointedly.

“I won’t let that happen,” Nate promised, then begrudgingly left the table in pursuit of his father.

When Nate was gone, Charlie sighed in exasperation and buried her face in her hands. “He better not bugger this up for us,” she grumbled. 

“C’mon, let’s have faith in Nate,” Ray said in an attempt to lift Charlie’s spirits, though his optimism proved to be futile. 

Behrad took it upon himself to switch topics and followed Ray’s gaze, which was intently fixed on one of the cancan dancers on stage. “Ah, I see _Nora_ is here tonight. Do my eyes deceive me or is that the handkerchief you gave her tucked in her bodice?” 

Ray immediately averted his eyes away from Nora. “You don’t know that’s _my_ handkerchief,” he protested defensively, his cheeks reddening. “That could be anyone’s handkerchief.” 

“ _Sure_ ,” Charlie teased, nudging John’s shoulder and pointing at the pretty brunette cancan dancer in the middle with the flouncy teal skirt. “That’s Nora Darhk, one of the club’s _Diamond Divas_ , as Mick likes to call them. Ray is in loooove with her.”

“I am not!” Ray blurted out a little too abruptly. 

Behrad snickered and introduced more of the girls. “The one in purple is Mona, and the one in green is Ava.” He searched the crowd until his eyes landed on the blonde dancer in red John had encountered earlier. “That’s Sara, who choreographs all the dance routines. And over there—” His expression brightened when he spotted a different dancer dressed in hot pink, easily the tallest woman in the room. “—is Astra. She’s new here.”

“Ray’s not the only one who’s taken a fancy to a dancer,” Charlie remarked smugly, waggling her brows in Astra’s direction. 

“ _Anyway._ ” Blushing, Behrad ignored her comment and turned to regard John with an awkward grimace. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s really weird that I helped write a love poem for you to seduce my sister.

John stiffened. “I’m not _really_ seducing anyone,” he protested, shaking his head adamantly at the idea. “It’s part of the ruse, yeah? Impress Zari, then she can persuade this Mick Rory bloke to run your little show. I’m simply the messenger in this operation.”

“You don’t know my sister though,” Behrad countered, almost like he was giving John a warning. “Zari has many talents, but the one thing she excels best at is making people fall under her spell. Just be careful, my friend.”

As if on cue, the Moulin Rouge suddenly went dark and a hush settled over the crowd. The mood in the room changed dramatically as the light dimmed to a deep purple. A spotlight flicked on and aimed upward, effectively drawing the crowd’s attention.

Descending from the ceiling was a stunning woman perched atop a trapeze bar, her sleeveless silver gown shimmering in the light like a million individual diamonds. 

John felt his breath hitch in his throat as his jaw dropped. 

The woman was slowly lowered to the dance floor, where the crowd was gathered to watch her with their mouths agape. John’s eyes couldn’t resist sweeping over her silhouette from head to toe. Her face was partially obscured by the brim of a black top hat placed upon her head of thick, lustrous chocolate brown waves arranged over her bare shoulder. A blinding diamond necklace rested across her décolletage, paired with diamond earrings dangling from her ears and matching bracelets. Black satin gloves spanned the length of her slender arms and the corseted bodice of her dress hugged her hourglass figure. Peeking through the slit at the front of her dress were a pair of shapely legs accentuated by her bedazzled black stilettos and fishnet stockings.

“Zari sure knows how to make an entrance,” Charlie murmured, even though John was barely listening. 

Behrad was able to snap John out of his daze when he tapped him on the arm and whispered, “I was able to arrange a private meeting between you and Zari when she finishes her number. I also checked her schedule for tonight and as far as I know, Mick won’t be keeping her occupied with any other appointments. It’ll just be the two of you.”

John swallowed the lump forming in his throat and nodded. “Just the two of us,” he repeated, returning his gaze to the woman in question. 

When Zari began to sing, her sultry and seductive voice rendered John spellbound. Behrad’s warning disappeared from his mind as he watched her swing back and forth on the trapeze, captivating the room with her song and dazzling smile. Men and women alike cheered and chanted her name. Zari clearly delighted in the praise, blowing everyone kisses and winking. As she jumped off the trapeze, a pair of male dancers caught her and lifted her in the air, spinning her around before depositing her on the stage.

While Zari continued to sing about diamonds and being a material girl, unknownst to John and the others, someone else was to meet the beautiful courtesan that night. 

Just a few tables away from Charlie’s troupe, Mick Rory had made his way across the club unnoticed and was sitting alongside Nate and his father, the new financier of the Moulin Rouge.

* * *

“So when is my son going to meet the girl?” Hank Heywood asked impatiently, watching Zari with keen interest as she danced provocatively with several patrons. Nate had just begun to broach the subject of the show to his father when Mick Rory interrupted them by sitting down at their table. 

Mick grunted in annoyance, not bothering to change his gruff demeanor even in the presence of a Duke. “I’ve arranged a meeting between Mr. Heywood and Miss Tarazi after her number. Just the two of them.”

“Just the two of us?” Nate repeated, mortified. Was this another one of his father’s misguided attempts at arranging at courtship for him?

Because Hank Heywood was cold and emotionally unavailable during his son’s youth, this led to Nate’s estrangement from his own family. Nate seldom spoke of his ties to nobility, opting to keep this part of himself a secret from his colleagues, who he had grown closer to these past few months while working at the Moulin Rouge. He never anticipated them finding out about his father’s patronage to the club this way, nor did he imagine Hank would show up here on the same night Charlie’s troupe was trying to present their show.

Needless to say, their plan was quickly unraveling by the minute and Nate was afraid their only hope for the fate of _Bohemian Rhapsody_ was in the hands of a stranger they met only a day prior.

“Just the two of you,” Mick confirmed, taking a sip of his beer. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” Hank replied, silencing Nate’s protests with a wave of his hand. “It meets the requirements of our deal. I will provide financial aid to the Moulin Rouge in exchange for your star courtesan’s companionship with my son.”

Nate felt bile burning a path up his throat, though all he could do was simmer in panicked silence as his father took the liberty of deciding his future for him.

* * *

Mick managed to finally tear himself away from the overbearing Duke and his son and navigated his way back through the crowd, jumping up onto a platform beside Zari. Her stellar smile was so infectious that Mick struggled to contain his smirk.

As the Diamond Divas took over singing the chorus, Zari tossed her top hat into the crowd and turned to ask Mick, “Are the Duke and his son here yet?”

“Of course,” Mick told her, regarding his star courtesan with an inkling of fondness. “When have I ever let you down?” 

But as Mick glanced over Zari’s shoulder, he was alarmed to find Behrad had wandered over to talk to Nate and was in the process of spilling scalding hot tea on the Duke’s lap. Behrad appeared to apologize profusely, he and Nate equally mortified as he dabbed a handkerchief over the Duke’s ruined clothes. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mick grumbled under his breath. _Idiots._

“What?” Zari asked eagerly. “Where are they?”

Mick pointed in their direction. “They’re sitting at that table. The Duke’s son is the one your brother is shaking a hanky at.”

At that exact moment, Behrad had gone over to John and asked to borrow his handkerchief. Little did Mick know, Zari happened to spot her younger brother waving a handkerchief at the blonde-haired stranger, therefore believing he was the Duke’s son. 

“Oh, he’s handsome,” Zari noted, growing skeptical. “Are you sure?”

Mick confirmed this when he turned back around and saw Behrad and Nate taking turns using John’s handkerchief to continue drying the incensed Duke’s clothes. “That’s the one, sweetheart. Pretty face and all.”

* * *

The cancan dancers formed a circle around Zari and Mick and lifted up their skirts, keeping them hidden so she could change into a new outfit. Having grown accustomed to these rapid costume changes, Zari’s hands worked quickly to remove her silver gown, promptly tossing it aside when Ava discreetly handed her a strapless pale pink dress with a beaded bodice and skirt made of white feathers. “Will the Duke invest?” she asked Mick.

Mick made a low, guttural sound in his throat. “He better. I don’t see why the bastard would refuse after I already promised you to his son.”

“What’s his son’s type?” Zari inquired. She had a knack for transforming into whatever her clients desired. “Wilting flower? Bright and bubbly? Or smoldering temptress?”

“Definitely smoldering temptress,” Mick replied without hesitation. “Everyone here is counting on you to pull this off. Remember, a real show in a real theater. You’ll be—“

“A real actress,” Zari sighed wistfully, replacing her black satin gloves with a pair of glittering sheer fingerless gloves. Lastly, she adjusted her strapless bodice and fluffed her hair, ready to go. 

The swelling music was Zari’s cue to emerge from behind the dancers, earning a chorus of cheers from the crowd at her return. She continued her song and routine, swaying her hips side to side with the tempo. Approaching her big finish, she gracefully stepped down from the stage and sashayed onto the dance floor. 

Meanwhile across the room, Charlie had shoved John right where Zari was heading. 

“ _Diamonds are a girl’s...best…friend_.” Belting the last note, Zari twirled around and prepared to raise her arms as the music ended…

Instead, she stumbled into the arms of the handsome stranger she had seen with her brother earlier. The one Mick said was the Duke’s son. 

Her composure faltered for only a split second before she winked and presented the man with her wickedest smirk, slightly breathless when she said, “I believe you’ve been expecting me, handsome.” 

Now that they were face to face, Zari realized the man wasn’t her usual type, but was still very attractive in a rugged sort of way. She surveyed his messy blonde hair and stubble, his strong brow and jawline, and his slight yet lean physique that was discernible underneath his tailcoat. Lines were carved at either side of his eyes and mouth, indicating he was no stranger to time and experience. Most striking of all were his eyes, dark and unrelenting as they studied Zari with interest. An air of mystery and intrigue shrouded the man, as if he contained an immeasurable amount of secrets. 

Rendered speechless, the man’s parted lips slowly curled into a mischievous smirk. “Oh yeah? I was under the impression _you_ were expecting _me_ , love.”

Struck by his confidence, Zari willed herself to snap back into character and tugged the man closer by his lapels, watching the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. “Is that so? Well, this night has certainly gotten more interesting.” She let go of him and turned to address the murmuring crowd. “I’m afraid it’s lady’s choice tonight, boys!”

The man grew visibly uncomfortable as the patrons cheered and began chanting Zari’s name. “Everyone’s staring at us,” he muttered.

“You get used to it,” Zari said, peering at him coquettishly through her lashes. “But then again, I suppose you _are_ used to people looking at you.”

“Debatable,” the man replied with nonchalance, shrugging. “Though usually I just tell ‘em to bugger off.”

Zari leaned her head back and laughed. So he was handsome, charming, _and_ amusing. “I must say, you have the most interesting accent. What part of England are you from?”

“Well, I’m originally from Liverpool, but I’ve moved all over the place. London, Northampton, Newcastle, New York, even lived on the road in America for a while...” The man paused and chuckled to himself, realizing he was rambling. “Ah, listen to me blathering like a git. That’s not why I came here to meet you, actually…”

Growing impatient with the man’s incessant talking, Zari pressed her finger to her lips to silence him. “Enough chit chat, darling. I think you should shut up and dance with me.”

* * *

John usually took pride in not letting anyone tell him what to do.

But when Zari intertwined their fingers together and led him to the middle of the dance floor, he decided right then and there that he would allow this woman to drag him to hell and back if it meant being her presence a second longer. 

The pressure of Zari’s palm against his sent a river of electricity racing across John’s skin. His heart fluttered at the sight of her radiant smile reserved only for him, and at the way his hand settled perfectly at the curve of her waist. John could barely keep up as she steered them around the dance floor while a performer on stage burst into a fast-paced song. The club was a dizzying rush of activity, with cancan dancers and patrons alike darting every which way. All the while Zari was positively beaming, having the time of her life.

“I must say,” Zari shouted over the music, circling John as she took a handful of each side of her feathery skirt and waved it with each sway of her hips. “You’re not quite what I expected.”

John caught her as she twirled back into his arms. “I get that a lot,” he replied smoothly.

“For one, you dance terribly,” Zari continued, kneeling down before John while playfully running her hands down his body, causing him to let out a surprised yelp. “And I imagined you would be taller!”

“Oi!” John protested, his breath hitching as Zari brought her hands back up the front of his body to rest on his shoulders. In her stilettos the two of them were nearly the same height, but John found that he didn’t mind. For a brief moment, he imagined how easily her ruby red lips were within reach. 

Zari giggled and brought their bodies close again, lacing her arms around John’s neck. “So wonderful of you to take an interest in our little show.”

John almost forgot why he was here for a second until he remembered some of the responses he’d rehearsed with Charlie for precisely this kind of situation. “It sounds exciting,” he told her. “I’d be happy to get involved.”

Zari’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Assuming you like what I do, of course,” John added breathlessly as Zari spun them around in circles.

“Oh?” Zari came to an abrupt stop, her brows furrowed in confusion and John panicked thinking he’d said something wrong before she smiled and nodded. “I’m sure I will.”

John pressed on, reciting just as he’d practiced. “I was thinking—well, Charlie thought—we might be able to, uh, do it in private.”

Zari tilted her head curiously. “Did she?”

“Yes,” John clarified, leaning closer to whisper, “You know, a private...poetry reading.”

Unaware that Zari thought he was referring to sex, her mouth parted in surprise before slowly forming a coy smirk. “Oh! Yes, a poetry reading. I do love a little _poetry_ after dinner.” 

When the music started up again, Zari gave John a little wink before departing through the crowd, leaving him dumbstruck and alone on the dance floor. Even as Charlie came over to guide him back to their table, John couldn’t help but watch as Zari danced and interacted with the crowd with expert ease. She jumped onto the trapeze again, continuing her song while the patrons gathered below to watch her being lifted into the air.

“ _Diamonds are a girl’s best—_ ” Suddenly, Zari was cut off mid-sentence when she started gasping for air. Her entire body went rigid, hands gripping the bars for dear life. Then, much to everyone’s horror, her eyes rolled back in her head and she toppled backward off the trapeze. 

“No!” Mick Rory shouted as the orchestra abruptly stopped playing.

It all happened so fast that John could barely process what was happening. He was possessed by an instinct to dash in Zari’s direction even though they were on opposite ends of the room. Patrons gasped and cried out as Zari plummeted toward the dance floor, but was miraculously caught just in time when Behrad rushed into the crowd to catch his sister. 

Mick made some sort of gesture at Behrad that prompted him to carry Zari off out of sight along with a handful of dancers trailing after them. The crowd became completely silent, not knowing what to think. But in a desperate attempt to keep the show alive, Mick let out a triumphant yell, leading everyone to believe Zari’s brush with death was just a part of the act. 

Everyone gradually began clapping and chanting Zari’s name, ignorant to what had befallen their beloved sparkling diamond.

John could only remain frozen in stunned silence, his mind reeling over what went wrong after the captivating courtesan had danced with him just minutes earlier.

* * *

Zari vaguely heard the crowd chanting her name as she drifted in and out of consciousness in her dressing room, laid out on a bed surrounded by her brother, Sara, and Ava.

“What happened?” she heard Ava ask.

“I don’t know, I just saw her fall,” Sara replied.

Behrad whispered something in Persian to Zari and gently lifted her head, bringing a flask to her lips. When the medicine reached her throat, she gasped and spluttered, fully waking up.

“Behrad,” Zari gasped, struggling to catch her breath. Sweat collected at her hairline and plastered her dress to her skin. She shivered uncontrollably, her whole body cold and numb. Her makeup was likely ruined.

“I’m here,” Behrad said soothingly, using a handkerchief to mop the sweat on her forehead. For someone so young, Zari’s baby brother always took great care of her. “It’s alright, Z.”

“These silly costumes,” Zari whispered, laughing weakly. “You know how tight they can be.”

“I’m sure it was just a fainting spell,” Sara reassured her, squeezing her arm.

When Sara and Ava weren’t paying attention, Behrad leaned down to murmur in Zari’s ear, “You and I both know that wasn’t just a fainting spell, Zari _joon_.” 

Before Zari could reply, she was overcome by a spasm of violent coughs that left her panting and wheezing for air. Ava quickly handed Behrad a clean handkerchief for him to hold over his sister’s mouth so she could cough into it. Behrad’s keen gaze spotted the droplets of blood left behind on the handkerchief, but didn’t say anything to Sara or Ava as he discreetly disposed of the dirtied cloth.

When Mick ducked his head inside the dressing room to call Sara back onstage, leaving Ava to help Zari change, Behrad remained by his sister’s side while she regained her strength. When she was able to stand, he carefully helped her to her feet.

“I saw you met my new English friend tonight,” Behrad said, giving her a knowing look. Unbeknownst to the Tarazi siblings, they were not referring to the same man. “You two really seemed to hit it off while you were dancing.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Zari countered, blushing as she lightly slapped her brother on the arm. “Though I will admit he was interesting. Is he always so...odd?”

Behrad shrugged. “I haven’t known him long, but he’s certainly the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

Laughing, Zari checked her reflection in the mirror and scowled at her disheveled appearance, her lipstick and eyeshadow smeared across her face. “All right, I need you to leave so I can get dressed and redo my makeup,” she told her brother, gesturing at the door. “I have company expecting me.”

“Say no more.” With that, Behrad patted his sister’s cheek affectionately before slipping out of her dressing room. He preferred pretending to be ignorant of how his sister made a living each night.

Once Zari had managed to peel off her tight dress and gloves, she braced herself against the vanity table while Ava helped her step into a red satin gown and fasten her corset, groaning as the garment tightened around her torso. She was barely able to breathe a sigh of relief when Ava finished, firmly tying the laces.

“The Duke’s son seemed quite taken with you,” Ava said, aiding Zari with the task of pinning half her hair away from her face. “With a patron like his father, you could be the next Sarah Bernhardt.”

Zari smiled at the thought, applying more eyeshadow and red lipstick. “You really think I could be like the great Sarah?”

“I _know_ you can,” Ava affirmed, nodding at Zari’s reflection in the mirror. “I know real talent when I see it. Soon enough, you’ll be shining on the great stages across Europe.”

“I’m going to be a real actress, Ava,” Zari muttered, sighing dreamily as she stepped away from the vanity. “And one day I’ll fly away from this place.”

Zari and Ava turned at the sound of Mick entering her dressing room, asking gruffly, “You didn’t die on me, did you?”

“Nonsense, Mick. A little fainting won’t stop me.” Facing her boss, Zari struck a sassy pose to show off her form-fitting red gown. “How do I look? Smoldering temptress?”

“I don’t see how the Duke’s son could possibly resist,” Ava told her, chuckling as Zari clapped her hands and squealed in delight. Feeling giddy, she took Ava’s hands and began leading her in a mock version of a tango, singing the rhythm in between fits of laughter that filled the room as they danced playfully around Mick.

Mick shook his head at their antics, though the corners of his mouth lifted just slightly as he offered his elbow to escort Zari out of the dressing room to her elephant-shaped chambers, where the Duke’s son would be awaiting her.

* * *

“I can’t believe we’ve made it this far without a hitch,” Ray said, standing in the courtyard outside the club with John and Charlie, gazing up at the elephant structure towering above them. Apparently this was Zari’s chambers, where John was supposed to meet her. 

“Don’t speak so soon, big guy,” Charlie replied, shifting nervously from foot to foot. She had been on edge ever since Nate’s confession and Zari’s alarming spectacle, also wondering why Behrad hadn’t returned yet when he had the poem John was supposed to recite tucked away in his suit jacket. “Johnno, are you sure you’re prepared for this?”

John huffed in irritation, having heard this very same question repeated to him numerous times already. “For the hundredth bloody time, _yes._ Remind me again why _you're_ not the one doing this?”

“Because it won’t be convincing if Zari hears it from someone she knows!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “We’ve discussed this. Besides, you’re the best actor out of all of us.”

“I’m just repeating a bit of poetry from memory,” John retorted, rolling his eyes. He thought they were making a much bigger deal out of this than it actually was. “It’s really not that difficult.”

“Poetry isn’t just simply memorizing words and saying them,” Ray told him, reaching over to gesture at John’s heart. “It comes from _within_. In order to make Zari believe in what you’re saying, you have to believe as well.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” John said dismissively, brushing off Ray’s sappy advice. “I get it. I promise I’ll put on the performance of my life that will have Shakespeare himself applauding from his grave.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you ever _not_ a bastard?”

John couldn’t resist laughing under his breath. “Depends on the day, love.”

Before Charlie could lose her temper and smack John, Ray stepped between the two of them and suggested, “All right, let’s not forget why we’re here. Best we don’t keep Zari waiting. John, why don’t you head inside?”

“Excellent idea, squire,” John replied, removing his top hat and placing it on Ray’s head. “The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get a drink.”

“John, please shut up and go inside the damn elephant,” Charlie demanded, pointing at the stairs leading up to Zari’s chambers.

“We’ll wait right here in case anything goes wrong,” Ray added, offering an encouraging thumbs-up that did nothing to quell the nerves stirring in John’s gut. 

Inhaling and exhaling deeply through his nose, John started up the metal spiral staircase until he reached a door left partly ajar. He hesitated before rapping his knuckles against the door, and a few seconds later it flew open.

Zari stood in the doorway wearing a sleeveless gown in the most enticing shade of red that complimented her warm skin tone, its silhouette hugging her curves in a way that made John’s mouth go dry. Her full ruby lips were curled in a sensual smile, her deep brown eyes glancing him up and down as she purred, “Hello, handsome. Care to join me?”

John swallowed thickly, licking his lips. “Lead the way.”

Grabbing his hand, Zari tugged him inside her chambers and shut the door behind them, leading him over to a sofa stacked with colorful pillows where he was ordered to wait while she changed into something more comfortable behind a dressing screen. John was forced to wait in restless silence, his leg bouncing up and down as he listened to the rustle of fabric across the room.

“They weren’t kidding when they said you lived inside an elephant,” John said in an attempt at light conversation, wanting to break the ice before delving into his purpose for this meeting.

Zari laughed lightly from behind the dressing screen, tossing her dress up and over it. “My chambers, yes. Isn’t it a wonderful place for a poetry reading?”

John stood from the sofa and started to pace before the window, catching a glimpse of Behrad, who had joined Charlie and Ray while they watched the elephant from below. He found their presence only slightly reassuring. “Yes, it’s—“

The words died on John’s lips when he turned around and felt his whole body tense, letting his eyes slowly roam over Zari’s figure. She was clad in nothing but a black and silver striped corset with a sheer black dressing gown, paired with black stilettos and stockings held up by lace garters around each bare thigh. Her dark waves were left loose, tumbling freely down her shoulders and over her ample amount of cleavage. Zari stood poised with one hand on her hip and the other in her hair, twirling a strand around her index finger. She was smiling a bit too innocently, though her eyes were dark and full of temptation. 

“Like what you see?” Zari teased, bringing John’s attention away from her body. She began to slowly make her way toward him, swaying her hips with each deliberate stride. “Is this _poetic_ enough for you?”

“Uh…” At a loss for words, John reached to loosen his collar and managed to recollect himself, nodding. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Zari walked over to a small table full of food and a bucket of ice containing a bottle of champagne. “Mick has arranged a light supper for us. Champagne, your grace? May I call you that?”

 _Your grace?_ John ignored her strange request, and as much as he desperately needed a drink at the moment, he decided to get down to business. “Frankly, I’d rather just get it over and done with, love.”

He heard Zari gasp sharply as the champagne bottle slipped out of her hand, crashing into the ice bucket. “Oh,” she said as she turned, arching a slender eyebrow. With a devilish smirk she proceeded to make her way over to the bed, crawling onto it seductively and arranging herself against the pillows with her legs folded to the side and her arms spread out, presenting John with a full view of her body. “Very well, then. Let’s get it over and done with.”

John’s eyes widened incredulously. He didn’t know what the hell was happening or how they ended up here, with this incredibly attractive woman basically offering herself to him. Of course this was the courtesan’s job to seduce men like John. Normally, he would’ve jumped at the chance to be with someone like Zari Tarazi, but something was holding him back. He told himself it was his agreement with Charlie’s troupe that kept him from having his way with her. 

Not realizing how suggestive he sounded, John replied, “I’d prefer it if we did this standing.”

Zari gaped at him for a moment before recovering, moving to climb off the bed. “Oh…”

“You don’t have to stand,” John told her, patting his coat pockets for the piece of paper with his poem before remembering Behrad had it, cursing softly under his breath. He would have to recite it all from memory, then. “I mean, it’s a bit long and I’d like you to be comfortable. It may seem a little strange at first, but if you’re open, I think you might enjoy it.”

Zari tilted her head at him and smiled. “I’m sure I will.”

Taking a deep breath, John began to quote the first few lines from the poem he’d written, pausing in between phrases to recall the exact words. He made sure to enunciate clearly and speak with purpose, implementing Ray’s advice. Everything seemed to be going well until he was interrupted by a breathy moan.

Much to John’s astonishment, Zari was sprawled out on the bed with her arms outstretched and her back arched, eyes fluttering and chest heaving as she breathed heavily. Desperately trying not to get turned on, John willed himself to focus on delivering the poem, but was inevitably distracted again when Zari started trailing her hands up and down her body, touching herself all over. Suddenly, poetry was the last thing on his mind.

Noticing that he’d faltered, Zari stopped moaning and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” John reassured her, his voice climbing an octave. He had recited all the lines of the poem he could recall, plus it was difficult to ignore the discomfort in his trousers. “It just, uh, takes a bit of time for me to...get into character, you know?”

“Oh, yes! I understand.” Realization appeared to dawn on Zari and she hopped off the bed, sauntering over to John with a dangerous look simmering in her gaze. John backed up until he felt himself hit the wall, Zari slowly approaching him like a predator cornering her prey. Once they were finally face to face, she pressed her hands against John’s chest and met his eyes with unabashed desire. 

“Does _this_ help you get into character?” Zari whispered, and without so much of a warning she reached between them and grabbed John’s crotch. 

_Bloody Christ_. John gasped and released an involuntary groan, unintentionally spurring Zari on. Before she could squeeze him again, he seized her by the wrist. “Please, love—“

“Love? Great idea.” Zari shoved John harder against the wall and hiked her leg up, grinding her hips against his as she whispered in his ear, “Let’s make love.”

“Make love?” John choked out, closing his eyes and biting back a moan as Zari began to kiss his jawline and neck, leaving red lipstick marks on his skin. He loved a good shag as much as anyone, but he was pretty sure sleeping with this woman wasn’t part of the plan. 

“That _is_ what you want,” Zari breathed against his neck, nipping at his pulse point. “Isn’t it?”

“Well, I came to—” John abruptly cut off when Zari’s fingers began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He would’ve gladly allowed this to go further, but somehow he was able to snap out of his lust-filled haze and push Zari away so he could dart across the room out of her reach. He racked his brain for something to say, _anything_ remotely poetic.

Believing he was playing some sort of game, Zari giggled and started to chase John around the room. “What? Can’t you feel the _poetry?"_

John leaped over the sofa to dodge Zari, causing her to trip in her stilettos and fall onto a pile of pillows on the floor. Not knowing what else to do, and beyond confused at this point, he proceeded to improvise off the top of his head, using discarded lines from the first draft of the piece he wrote with Charlie’s troupe. “ _It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside…_ ”

Zari crawled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbow, resting her hand in her chin. “Isn’t it, though?”

“ _I’m not one of those who can easily hide…_ ”

“No reason to hide,” Zari teased, batting her lashes.

Gradually becoming more relaxed and sure of himself, John gave in to the performance and slipped into the character of a man who believed in silly things like freedom, truth, beauty, and even love. He expressed as much passion in his words as he could muster, leaving Zari captivated. Ironically, the bewitching courtesan now seemed to be under John’s spell.

He helped Zari to her feet, leading her into a slow dance unlike the way they’d danced earlier that night. She regarded John like she no longer knew what to think of him, and he finally saw a genuine person underneath her courtesan persona and heavy makeup. Soon enough, the pair found themselves waltzing around the elephant, forgetting all about their respective motives for this meeting. John couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this light and carefree. It was as if they were immersed in another world, John’s words unleashing something in the two of them that could only be described as magical.

“ _How wonderful life is,_ ” John sang the final line, his heart swelling with an unknown emotion as he lost himself in Zari’s eyes. “ _Now you’re in the world…_ ”

The piece came to an end and John held Zari in his arms as he dipped her, her hands caressing his face as they gazed at each other in awe. When he started to mutter something nonsensical, Zari pressed a finger to his lips and murmured, “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?” John inquired breathlessly, grinning like an idiot.

Zari brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. “That I’ve fallen in love with—“

“Zari!” The sound of Mick Rory’s gruff voice came from behind the door to her chambers, interrupting her. “I have the Duke and his son here!”

“The Duke and his…” Zari’s eyes slowly widened in horror and she scrambled out of John’s arms, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Who the hell are you?”

John’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m John Constantine. Why?”

Zari pressed her hands together in a praying gesture, her eyes pleading. “ _Please_ tell me you’re John Constantine, the son of the Duke of Monroth.”

“What?” Suddenly, everything started to click in John’s mind. This explained why this meeting went so awry. Somehow, there had been a massive misunderstanding. “No, I’m no duke’s son. I’m…” He was surprised by how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. “A writer.”

“ _A writer?"_ Her face gone ashen, Zari shook her head repeatedly in disbelief and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, god _._ Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh _god!”_

“There’s a reasonable explanation for this,” John tried to explain. “You see, your brother arranged this meeting—“

“My brother?” Zari whirled around to face him. “Wait. I remember seeing Behrad with you earlier. _Oh, no_. You're not another one of his oh-so-talented, charmingly bohemian, tragically impoverished friends, are you?”

“Well, we only just met yesterday,” John replied, shrugging. “But sure. Let’s go with that.”

Zari picked up a nearby pillow and released an angry, muffled scream into it, throwing it at John when she was finished. “ _No!_ I swear to god, when I find him, I’m going to kill him!”

“Zari, are you decent?” Mick asked impatiently, banging on the door.

“Just a moment!” Zari told him, frantically gesticulating at John to make himself scarce. “ _Go hide!”_

Panicking, John’s eyes darted around the room to find a hiding place. “Where?”

“On the balcony, damn it!” Zari hurried over to the window and ripped the curtains open, letting out a startled shriek when she found Charlie, Behrad, and Ray gathered in a huddle, having climbed the elephant in order to eavesdrop on the balcony. The trio screamed at being caught, though luckily Zari shut the curtain right as the door burst open and Mick Rory entered, accompanied by the Duke and Nate.

* * *

“What the hell is going on in here?” Mick demanded, his steely gaze flickering between Zari and John.

Zari didn’t know where to begin answering that question, so out of politeness she approached the Duke of Monroth, Hank Heywood, and his _actual_ son—wait, wasn’t he one of Behrad’s friends? Nick? No, _Nate_ —dipping into a low curtsy. “Monsieurs, how wonderful of you both to take time out of your busy schedules to visit.”

“The pleasure is all mine, mademoiselle,” Hank Heywood replied, not-so-discreetly glancing over Zari’s attire. He placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “Allow me to introduce you to my son, Nathaniel Heywood.”

Presenting her hand to Nate, Zari was pleased to find the Duke’s son was quite handsome, his physique strong and well-built, his brown hair neatly trimmed and combed, and his almond-shaped eyes a lovely shade of deep blue. Unlike his father, Nate’s gaze was respectful and remained at eye level, even as he bent down to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles. 

Yes, Zari could most certainly learn to enjoy his company.

Though it was impossible to ignore how she currently desired the presence of another, particularly the blonde-haired man standing across the room who she’d initially thought was the Duke’s son. The man whose intense gaze Zari could feel glaring at her and Nate.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Nate said, nodding his head at her courteously. “Behrad has told me much about you.”

“Has he, now?” Zari stole a quick glance at her brother, who was peeking out from behind the curtain where he, Charlie, and Ray remained hidden. She made a mental note to deal with him later.

Mick grunted and jerked his head in the direction of John. “Zari, who is this weasel?”

“Oh, I meant to introduce you and the Duke to the writer!” Zari exclaimed, rushing over to John.

“The writer?” Mr. Heywood questioned suspiciously.

Zari nodded vigorously, desperately hoping the Duke would buy it. “Yes, we were actually just rehearsing!”

Mr. Heywood barked out a sarcastic laugh. “Let me get this straight. Do you really expect me to believe that while scantily clad, with a man who has lipstick marks on his neck, in the middle of the night, inside a damn elephant, you two were _rehearsing?"_

Behrad, Charlie, and Ray emerged from behind the curtain just in time, Behrad asking, “How’s rehearsal going, Z?”

“We apologize for the delay,” Ray added. “Got held up.”

Charlie wandered over to the piano, testing the keys to see if the instrument was in tune. “Shall we take it from the top, mates?”

“I was feeling inspired so I called for an _emergency rehearsal,_ ” Zari explained on behalf of her brother’s eccentric friends, exchanging a meaningful look with Mick. “Isn’t that right, Mick?”

Mick blinked. “Emergency rehearsal?” When Zari gave him another pointed glare, he seemed to grasp what was happening and cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, I was aware of it.”

“Now I see what’s going on here,” Mr. Heywood said, narrowing his eyes dubiously. 

Zari stiffened. “You do?”

“ _You do?"_ said everyone else in unison.

Mr. Heywood nodded, continuing, “You arranged this rendezvous in order to audition your new show for me, hoping I would invest.”

The room was silent for a moment until a nervous laugh escaped Zari’s lips. “Nailed it in one!” she declared, followed by affirming nods from the others. 

“So, what’s the story of your show?” Mr. Heywood asked. “If I’m to invest, I’ll need to know the story.”

“The story?” _This is it,_ Zari thought. _This is where the lie will fall apart._ “Yes, uh…”

* * *

John wasn’t sure what possessed him to blurt out, “It’s about love.”

Mr. Heywood didn’t seem impressed. “Love?”

“Yes, love overcoming all obstacles!” Ray supplied brightly. John found the man’s neverending romanticism sickening, yet endearing in a way.

“And it’s set in Switzerland,” Nate added, earning a furious glare from his father, who was probably wondering why the hell his son was participating in this nonsense. 

One of John’s greatest talents was spewing impromptu bullshit on the spot. So when he glanced at a statue of an Indian elephant standing nearby, he was struck with an idea. “India. It’s set in India!” His gaze traveled over to Zari, who was already watching him intently. “And there’s a courtesan. The most beautiful courtesan the world had ever seen.”

“But her kingdom’s invaded by an evil sultan,” Charlie joined in, all too eager to add to the story. “And in order to save her kingdom, she must marry the sultan’s son, the maharajah.”

“But on the night this occurs, she mistakes a traveling sailor for the sultan’s son,” Behrad said, glancing between John and Zari, noticing the way they looked at each other. “And she falls in love with him instead of the handsome maharajah.”

 _What the hell?_ John thought. _Did Behrad just use what essentially happened between him and Zari for the plot of this ridiculous show?_

“What happens next?” Mr. Heywood asked, appearing overwhelmed but nevertheless prompting them to continue.

“So the sailor and the courtesan have to hide their love from the sultan,” Ray explained.

“And the sailor has a friend who’s a penniless sitar player!” Charlie held up a sitar she managed to find within the room. “But the sitar is magical and speaks the truth.”

“Does it reveal the ruse?” Mr. Heywood surmised. 

“Indeed it does,” Zari confirmed, then dramatically added, “Our show will be a spectacle of intrigue, danger, and romance that embodies the wild, bohemian spirit of the Moulin Rouge!”

To demonstrate some of the songs and dances, the group managed to improvise what _Bohemian Rhapsody_ would be like. Apparently the production would include elephants, courtesans, acrobats, exotic dancers, juggling bears, fire-eaters, contortionists, and a dozen other acts John doubted they could cram into a single show. He didn’t see the harm in going along with it, knowing most of it was hypothetical speculation and not realistically possible. John was certainly no bohemian like the others, who were much more excited about this ordeal than he was. He could only wonder how involving himself in this show would help him with his demon investigation.

It wasn’t until Mr. Heywood burst everyone’s bubble when he asked, “But what happens in the end?”

They all glanced at each other frantically, realizing they hadn’t come up with the ending yet. How in the world do you conclude such a show? Something sappy like true love’s kiss saving the day? A grand finale with singing and synchronized tap dancing? Should a major character die?

It was Behrad who saved everyone’s asses when he summarized the conclusion, “The courtesan and the sailor are pulled apart by the sultan’s evil plan, but in the end she hears his song and their love proves to be too strong.”

As they heard this, John and Zari stole one last glimpse at each other, their twin expressions full of a thousand unspoken words.

After an agonizing minute of silence, Mr. Heywood stood and announced, “Generally, I like it.”

The whole room erupted in cheers that even John couldn’t help but partake in. The genuine happiness of the group bohemians he’d infiltrated was infectious, and for a fleeting moment he permitted himself to imagine he was one of them.

John didn’t know how they managed it, but the Moulin Rouge officially had an investor and the bohemians finally had their show.

* * *

The following night, all of Paris was alive commemorating the end of the century, shooting fireworks that reached the starry moonlit heavens. The Eiffel Tower shone in the distance like a beacon, signaling a new beginning for the children of the bohemian revolution.

While a celebration party raged upstairs in the troupe's flat, John sat perched on his windowsill with only a bottle of wine and cigarettes to keep him company. Charlie had invited him to join them, but he rejected her offer, deciding he would much rather be alone. Besides, there was research that needed to be done and a show that needed finishing.

 _How the hell do you even write a decent play?_ John mused, flipping through a copy of _Shakespeare’s Complete Works_ he found on the bookshelf. He gave up a quarter of the way through _Romeo and Juliet_ before sitting at the window to watch drunk passerbys stumbling down the street.

Before he realized it, his gaze meandered across the street toward the Moulin Rouge, with its shimmering lights and lively music spilling out the front doors, until it landed on the elephant outside the club.

Then John began to think of _her_ , her sparkling eyes and irresistible smile, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking of him as well.

“Psst, John,” came a voice from somewhere in the room. At first John thought he was imagining it, until he heard it again. “ _John!"_

John whirled around to find Behrad’s head peering through the hole in his ceiling, his face upside down. So startled, he jumped and accidentally dropped his bottle of wine out the window. “ _Bloody hell_. What are you doing?”

“We miss youuuu,” Behrad said, clearly high as hell. “Why don’t you join us upstairs?”

“I’m a little busy at the mo, mate,” John replied, crossing the room to stand underneath Behrad. 

Behrad squinted his eyes as if he was trying to read John. “No, you’re not. You look like you’re in the depths of despair.”

John snorted. “If I had a pound for every time I’ve heard that one.”

“I recognize that look anywhere,” Behrad told him, tilting his head. “Who’s troubling your heart?”

“What makes you say that?” John feigned ignorance despite the image of Zari that popped in his mind. 

Then, Behrad gasped and a knowing grin slowly appeared on his face. “Ohhh, I understand now. I’m not blind, John. I saw how you were acting around my sister when you danced together. You ignored my advice and now you’ve fallen under her spell, haven’t you?”

John felt his cheeks flame and his heart skip a beat, thankful his flat was dark. How could Behrad believe such a thing? Only suckers fell in love at first sight. “No, I haven’t,” he denied quickly, avoiding the other man’s scrutiny. “Behrad, we only just met last night. I barely even know the woman.”

Behrad shrugged his shoulders as best he could while hanging upside down. “I have no room to judge. Love is the most misunderstood and powerful thing in the world. Sometimes what your heart wants will surprise you when you least expect it.”

John was struck by Behrad’s wisdom, digesting the other man’s words carefully. He was no stranger to the concept of love, having devoted himself to others in the past only to have them ripped away from him. Since then, John vowed to keep his tortured heart closely guarded and unavailable to anyone else. 

But then Zari Tarazi quite literally sauntered right into his arms like a breath of fresh air, and for the first time in ages he began to entertain the idea of abandoning his life of solitude.

“You know, there’s a saying my mother taught me and Zari when we were children,” Behrad continued, his voice softening as he became nostalgic. “ _‘The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.'"_

Somehow, this resonated deeply within John and he was overcome by the need to race to the elephant, where a single light could be seen shining faintly inside. 

He told himself Zari was probably lonely tonight. The life of a courtesan seemed like a solitary one, mirroring his own work as an exorcist. It was only logical for outcasts to be drawn to one another.

Letting that justify his decision, John acted on his impulse and told Behrad he had somewhere to be, ignoring the other man’s insistence that he should change out of his disheveled dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and askew tie. Then he promptly left his flat to head across the street toward the nightclub.

He ventured into the garden outside the Moulin Rouge, standing outside the elephant. Around the back of the structure was a rope dangling from the elephant’s tail, which John’s assumed was how Charlie, Behrad, and Ray had climbed onto the balcony last night. John started to climb up the back of the elephant, underestimating not only his strength but how difficult mounting a rope would be, until by some miracle he reached the top.

Grunting with effort, John rolled over the railing and ungracefully toppled onto the balcony, the commotion alerting Zari of his presence.

Sitting on the bed with her back turned to the window, Zari spun around and screamed, jumping to her feet and instinctively hurling a lamp at the intruder. 

Luckily the lamp missed John by mere inches, flying over his shoulder and off the balcony. “It’s just me, love!”

“ _John_ ,” Zari said breathlessly, hand against her chest. “Thank god it’s just you. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” John apologized, taking a tentative step into the room. He drank in the sight of Zari dressed in a light pink corset and matching shorts over sheer pantyhose, covered by a pink silk dressing gown that touched the floor. Not wanting to admit the real reason he came to see her, John said, “I saw your light was on, and I uh...I wanted to thank you. For helping me and my friends get the job.”

Zari laughed lightly, still a little flustered from before. “Oh, of course. It was no problem at all. You’re very talented.”

“Nah, I’m not the talented one,” John told her, brushing off her complement with a wave of his hand. “Charlie’s troupe wrote the show. I just helped them audition it for the duke.”

“Oh,” Zari replied, cracking a feeble smile. “Nevertheless, it’s going to be a wonderful show. I’m looking forward to being a part of it.”

The two of them were quiet for a moment, awkwardly standing across from each other thinking of what to say. A strange tension started brewing between them the moment John entered the room. Finally, he blurted out, “Am I bothering you? I can leave if you want.”

Zari smirked and shook her head, gesturing out the window. “Actually, I was just about to step out onto the balcony. It’d be a shame to waste such a lovely night. Will you join me?”

Nodding his head, John followed her outside to the balcony and leaned over the railing beside her, where they basked in companionable silence as they watched the vibrant fireworks soaring over Paris. Their shoulders brushed together, though neither of them moved to give each other space. The soft breeze blew Zari’s dark curls away from her face and made her dressing gown billow behind her like a rippling pink sea.

“I realize the only thing I know about you is your name,” Zari said, looking away from the night sky to regard John. “Tell me more about yourself.”

John chuckled dryly and looked down. Whenever someone asked for his life story, he tended to dodge the question for their sake, not his. Nobody needed to know about his personal demons. “That’s a long story for another time, love. I could ask you the same thing. How did you wind up at the Moulin Rouge?”

“Long story for another time,” Zari repeated John’s words, meeting his questioning gaze with a sly grin. She bit her lip before adding, “In short, my brother and I moved to Paris years ago and lived on the streets. We were poor and couldn’t afford to eat, so I started working as a prostitute. I didn’t want to do it, but I needed to take care of my brother. Mick eventually found us and took us in, then gave me a job at the club. It isn’t perfect, but Behrad and I have a roof over our heads and the clients pay well.”

“I don’t blame you for what you’ve done,” John told her sincerely, returning her smile. “Life dealt you a bad hand and you were just trying to survive. I understand that probably more than anyone.”

Zari’s lips parted in wonder, as if it was rare for her to be shown compassion for her situation. “You continue to astound me, John Constantine.”

“I have that effect on people,” John joked, enjoying the way his last name rolled off Zari’s tongue in separate syllables. He felt a sense of pride at making her laugh. Then, unable to stop himself, he asked, “So, as a courtesan, are you in the habit of telling your clients you love them?”

Zari realized John was inexplicitly referring to last night, when she’d mistaken him as the Duke’s son and told him she’d fallen in love with him. A deep flush warmed her cheeks and she pressed her lips together, glancing away before she replied, “It’s part of my job, John. I’m paid to make rich men and women believe what they want to believe.”

“Got it,” John said, his tone clipped with undercurrents of disappointment. He didn’t know why, but deep down, he refused to believe it was all just an act. “You don’t wanna go around falling in love with blokes like me. Trust me, I’m a nasty piece of work.”

“John, I didn’t mean to upset you—” Zari started to say.

“You didn’t upset me, Zari.” John huffed in frustration and slumped forward to rest his face in his hands, using his elbows to prop himself on the railing. Feeling emboldened, he admitted through gritted teeth, “This probably sounds mad, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A prolonged hush fell upon them and John immediately regretted what he said, cursing himself for being a fool. But he was dumbfounded when he heard Zari whisper, “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

Meeting Zari’s gaze, John tried to make sense of the unreadable expression on her face and the strange smile teasing at her tempting red lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he followed her hand as it tiptoed along the railing and brushed against his fingers. He was unable to stifle a lopsided smirk, causing the corners of his eyes to crease, and he placed his hand fully on top of hers. 

“You’re gonna be bad for business,” Zari told him, though she didn’t appear sorry at all and intertwined their fingers. “I can tell.”

“Good,” John murmured, drawing Zari closer by her waist. He sighed deeply as their foreheads pressed together, and decided to confess, “Just so you know, I’m not really a writer.”

Zari let out a small giggle, reaching up to caress the stubble at John’s jaw. “I figured you weren’t. I don’t know many writers who smell like frankincense.”

Before John could offer a clever remark, Zari surged forward and crashed her mouth against his. In that moment he tossed what little inhibitions he had to the wind, melting into her embrace with a satisfied groan. John knew this woman would be his undoing and thought, _What a way to go._

The lovers conveyed their mutual desire for each other in the first passionate kiss of many, sealing their fate for what was to come. 


End file.
